Raincheck
by Jessa4865
Summary: Olivia has a little problem that Elliot's more than happy to remedy. EO PWP COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Raincheck

Jezyk

Spoilers: Through Season 9

Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously, or I wouldn't be resorting to fanfic, now would I?

Warning: Adults only. Smut. PWP. Or maybe there is a plot, but the plot is… well, no, ok, definitely no plot. What have you. You get the idea. And if you don't, that's a pretty good indication that you should let your parents know you're too young to be surfing the internet.

Chapter One

Elliot Stabler was not one to ruminate on anything, let alone immutable facts. But there was one truth that always stopped him in his proverbial tracks and allowed his mind to wander aimlessly through useless bits of data like a philosopher with far less pressing work to do than Elliot had on any given day.

That indisputable fact was simply that Olivia Benson exuded sex. Not in the sleazy, tacky way a stripper in a lacy red thong named Angel might. No, certainly not. But still, she was the embodiment of sex appeal. In respectable business attire, no less. God help anyone who saw her in a lacy red thong; the poor, lucky bastard would probably spontaneously combust.

Although he hated to admit it to himself, and would never admit to anyone else, particularly Olivia herself, but it was impossible to look at, think of, or talk to her without thinking about sex. Now granted, one might argue that was simply because the vast majority of their relationship revolved around sex, sadly not between them of course, but Elliot was convinced that was beside the point. For instance, a frightening percentage of his conversations with Cragen, Fin, and even Casey were about sex, but he had never once sat prisoner at his desk while he tried to will away a raging hard-on following a conversation with any of them. And this, naturally, could not be said of him in relation to his partner.

He was well aware of the statistic that reported the average man thought about sex every seven seconds. He was an average man, or so he liked to think. However, working in sex crimes ratcheted that number up to about every four seconds. And working with sex personified, well, he was screwed. Elliot Stabler pretty much thought about sex every single second.

How he could possibly think about sex more often, he wasn't sure. It was certainly a phenomenon worthy of study. But it was definitely possible.

And it was always on the days when Olivia had a date.

It was this quandary that befuddled him on one particular Wednesday afternoon. It had taken him half the day to recognize the signs – the free breakfast she brought him, the playful mood, the incessant checking of her wristwatch. By the time she suggested hot dogs for lunch, which he liked and of which she generally spent her entire lunch hour spouting off rather disgusting ingredients, Elliot knew she had a date. She was completing every piece of paperwork on her desk while occasionally taking a bite of her hot dog, which he knew meant she had no intention of staying late. Having nothing so pressing in his immediate future, he spent more of his time trying to stare at her without being noticed. She filed away one form, took a bite of her hot dog, and then stuck her finger in her mouth to clean off the mustard. Elliot shook his head and prayed his whimper had been silent. He absolutely did not need to think about where his mind inevitably went while processing both the images of the hot dog in her mouth and then her finger.

She never said a word about her plans for the evening, but given her mood was steadily getting better, as opposed to the normal effect of a day working in Special Victims, he was convinced he was right. Eventually, she noticed his pensive mood, despite her obvious distraction.

"You all right? You're awfully quiet, El."

He nodded. "You're awfully productive today. Hot date?" He said it with a smile. He wasn't jealous. They were friends and he was married and it was only fair that she got some too.

She tried to shake her head, even as a blush tinged her cheeks. "I'm meeting someone for dinner, but it's nothing special."

Elliot knew his partner well enough to know that since "someone" didn't merit a name, she was being honest that the relationship was of no consequence. What she didn't say, what she didn't need to say, was that "someone" and she would be doing something that would result in her being in just as good a mood the following day, however, also so relaxed that she wouldn't get much of anything at all done. And what she didn't know he knew was that it had been far too long since the last one of her awfully productive days.

When quitting time rolled around, Olivia was quick to grab her things. Murphy's Law ruled at the 1-6 and therefore, if something was going to go wrong, it was most likely going to go wrong right then. She bid a hasty good night as she was walking out, probably not even aware that her partner had replied in kind and implored her to have a good time with an impish grin.

And so, four hours later when the shit had long since hit the fan and burned through every other detective available, Elliot was very, very sorry that he was going to have to call her.

Even more so, since he was outside her apartment building by the time he got her on the phone. Listening to the ringing, he glanced up at her windows. The lights were out and he crossed his fingers that it was after, not during. When she answered the phone with an altogether too breathy "Fuck, Elliot, what" after she'd ignored two initial calls, he knew she hadn't been so lucky.

He waited, watching the door. She and "someone" emerged a few minutes later. He was trying to kiss her, but Elliot knew that was because he'd not quite understood the message. "Someone" had no importance by then; the chance was gone and she'd have a new someone by the next time she had a free evening. He felt bad for Olivia, for the frustration that she'd experienced, but he didn't feel as bad as the other man trudging away.

The tension was radiating off Olivia when she climbed into the passenger seat. Her cheeks were stained red. Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor. Her arms folded tight across her chest, trying to hide the lingering outward sign of her activities since it wasn't nearly cold enough to blame the temperature. She didn't say a word and he was thankful for it. He knew she wanted to kill him; he would have felt the same in her position.

"Sorry." He diverted his eyes from her, feeling bad suddenly for knowing as much as he did about how she was feeling at that moment. It seemed too personal to know, as though his understanding of his partner somehow equated to peeping in her windows. Her eyes turned to him, burning through his profile as he staunchly pretended not to know she was looking at him. He'd wanted her to know he got her pissy mood, but it was one of those rare times in their partnership where he was acutely aware that she was not a man and therefore felt violated that he knew what he did. Had it been Fin, the answer would have been something along the lines of 'damn, she was hot too.' But Olivia was not Fin and in keeping with the taboos of society, she undoubtedly preferred that no one, except her date, ever know that she was turned on.

It took what quite possibly outlasted eternity for her eyes to leave his face. Once she was no longer staring at him, he relaxed slightly. He tried not to notice her shifting uncomfortably in her seat. He tried not to know what would cause her to fidget miserably in the seat. He tried to ignore the idea that the poor woman and her date had only gotten so far as to make her hideously uneasy and terribly embarrassed.

He had to bite back the sudden urge to apologize again.

He had to bite back the sudden urge to offer to resolve her problem.

He also had to bite back his own body's instinctive reaction to the knowledge in his head. Because damn, all he could think about was that the cruiser's backseat was plenty big enough for the two of them to resolve their physical issues together in a mutually enjoyable way, rather than the shared pheromone-laden discomfort in the front seat.

The next few hours were filled with work. A victim, her story, a perp, his bullshit, paperwork. It was a miraculously easy case, with the victim easily able to identify the perp and the perp far too stupid to even ask for a lawyer before confessing. There was no reason the paperwork couldn't wait until morning, except that the boss hadn't gotten the chance to leave for those few hours Olivia had and was therefore demanding their paperwork. It was an open and shut case, he said, no sense in even leaving the paperwork open until the morning.

Olivia was about to explode, but she sat down and resolutely worked on fulfilling the boss's request. Elliot, who'd already felt like shit for ruining her plans, had inadvertently made things worse. He could honestly swear that it wasn't on purpose, although he wouldn't blame her one bit for thinking he was just being mean. In his own defense, he knew they'd long ago abandoned any idea of personal space. He should have realized that personal space became an issue when one's nerve endings were on fire and screaming for a long-denied release.

They'd been in the elevator on the way to the victim's hospital room. Olivia had pressed the button; Elliot stood where he normally would stand, just barely brushing shoulders with her. He'd always thought of it as their way of reassuring one another of their presence. But she felt differently about contact just then and had jumped away. Not thinking clearly, perhaps due to the hormone driven insanity in his brain that was convinced he could smell her desire for relief, he immediately crowded her, leaning in, touching her shoulder, asking her what was wrong. Her eyes first went to his hand on her shoulder, alerting Elliot that his large hand more than covered her shoulder and had actually brushed the bare skin of her neck. He was still processing a second behind her when she drew in a shaky breath. Her eyes were wide, her pupils huge when she finally met his inquisitive stare.

The sheer lust in her eyes at that moment almost killed him. His body, which had been on high alert ever since the hot dog incident and had only been re-awakened when he realized her state of arousal in the car, threatened to rebel. It was only the knowledge that the hospital elevators had alarms rigged to the stop button that prevented him from hitting it. She mistook his surprise for amusement and, thinking that he was teasing her on purpose, shoved him hard into the opposite wall. He wasn't entirely sure what she called him in the muttered string of expletives that followed, but he knew it wasn't something he wanted to be and definitely not something he wanted her to think he was. He felt bad, both for his accidental teasing and because she thought he was trying to be mean, but he knew better than to apologize. Not with the way she'd reacted in the car.

He went out of his way to avoid touching her and looking at her and thinking about her, as though that were possible with his newly discovered primal ability to spontaneously locate her and calculate the shortest route to being in contact with her. It was for both of them – because he knew that she was going to be resolving her dilemma on her own when she got home and because he somehow knew that for the first time in nine years closing his eyes and pretending that Kathy was not Kathy wasn't going to be nearly as good as he was willing to bet the real live not Kathy would be.

And despite his best efforts, his peace offering of a ride home backfired on him. The temperature had dropped during the night and he did the same chivalrous thing he'd been doing since he'd seen his father do it for his mother. He went to her side first, leaning over to unlock the door so she could get out of the cold first. Unfortunately, perhaps due to the lack of sleep, perhaps due to an unconscious need to see if his touch could garner the same spark of interest he'd seen in the elevator once again, he was much closer to her than either of them realized. As he straightened up from unlocking the car, his upper arm, by complete accident, brushed right across her breasts.

He hadn't needed to look in her eyes to see her body's instantaneous reaction to his touch. But he looked up anyway, needing to see it in her eyes as well, wanting to hold her gaze long enough that she wouldn't be able to tell herself anyone besides him was responsible. Even if it was just for a moment, he wanted to know she wanted him and he wanted her to be fully aware of it as well.

But instead of getting angry at him for throwing it in her face, she simply dropped her eyes. Her arms didn't move to cover the evidence on her chest. Had she been any less worn down by her pent up frustration at that point, she would have called him a dick, or worse, and he wouldn't have bothered to disagree. So he silently walked around to his side of the car to drive her home, feeling like a bastard.

By the time he pulled up in front of her building, he'd decided he was going to blame it on the city. If the NYPD had the cash to spring for automatic door locks like every car manufactured in the previous decade, he never would have had to opportunity to prove to his partner once and for all that he was an asshole. She didn't say a word to him as she practically ran from the car. He knew she wasn't fleeing from him; she was simply desperate to relieve the tension that had rendered her temporarily insane. He didn't blame her as he gunned the engine as soon as she disappeared into the building. He wanted to get home and into the shower to take care of his own problem as well, because he would feel far too guilty turning to Kathy. He would be betraying both of them. All three of them, actually.

In his slightly excessive speed, his reflexes were skewed. There was a yellow light ahead of him and since he was driving faster than he normally would be, he was sure he could make it. A moment later, when he realized he wouldn't, he slammed on the brakes and listened to the tires screech as they unhappily complied with his request to stop. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move, sliding from the seat to the floor with a dull thud. He flipped on the overhead light only to recognize Olivia's phone, which must have been dropped during her escape.

He sat there staring at it, not even hearing the horn blast of the car behind him. He could leave it, pretend he didn't see it, continue on his way home and let everything go the way it had been going a minute earlier. But the what-ifs started up, and he knew she might need the phone or someone might need to reach her or something might happen to the phone while in his possession that would then be his fault. With a reluctant sigh, he turned around and drove back to Olivia's.

He parked in the same spot in front of her building and dashed in behind one of her neighbors. He took it as a good omen that someone had opened the door, thus sparing him of having to buzz Olivia. She would undoubtedly know exactly who was there and would undoubtedly vent as much of her frustration as possible through the crackling, too-loud speaker, alerting the entire neighborhood to the fact that he was a jackass. Knocking on her door, however, he thought better of it. Had she told him off for ringing her, he would have had a perfectly valid reason to let the phone sit in his pocket until the next day at work.

He had a fleeting thought of running for the stairs and pretending he'd never been there.

But when her door flew open to reveal a positively irate Olivia Benson clad in a silky navy blue robe with, Elliot was positive, nothing underneath, he couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Her breathing was fast, shallow and hard. Her pupils were dilated, what he could see of them beneath her half-closed eyelids. Her arms immediately folded across her chest to hide what the shiny fabric had only served to accentuate.

"What the fuck do you want?" Her tone would have been forbidding had her voice not been so low and sultry.

Her choice of words was exactly right and he almost told her so. Elliot tried not to smile because, for the time being at least, his motive for being there seemed terribly cruel. Still, as he felt the smile spreading anyway, he fully intended to tease the shit out of her.

Since he'd decided only a moment earlier that he was going to make it up to her.

"You dropped your phone. I thought you might need it." Normally he would have held it out to her, perhaps even dropped it right on the table next to the door where he knew she normally left it. But he thought better of it, waiting for her to sigh angrily and hold out her hand for it. He really, really tried to fight back the grin as he placed the device in her hand, using the motion as the perfect excuse to brush his fingers against the tender skin of her wrist.

She nearly yelped as she snatched her wrist away.

He felt he deserved some sort of acting award as he looked at her, fake concern furrowing his brow. "What's wrong?" He stepped forward, inviting himself in and invading her personal space at the same time.

She twisted away when he went to touch her shoulder. It was too bad, he thought, because he would have been able to feel heat of her skin through her robe. She took a step backwards too. "I'm fine. Good night."

"Are you sure?" Even though he knew better, part of him wished she'd give voice to what they already both knew. He would have loved for her to ask him to do what he already had every intention of doing.

She nodded, turning away. "Yeah, thanks." She started to walk toward the hallway, obviously expecting Elliot would shut the door behind him, obviously expecting that he would leave, obviously expecting that his intention was absolutely not what it actually was.

Just to add to the torture, which he expected would be worth it, he waited until she'd disappeared from sight. "Hey, Liv?" It was a very unhappy Olivia who reappeared around the corner, sharp daggers in her eyes. "Could I get some coffee? I don't want to fall asleep on the road."

She chewed on her bottom lip as she stared at him. Nodding, she crossed in front of him to go to the kitchen. It seemed like she was almost about to cry as she reached for the coffee pot and Elliot decided that enough was enough. He would have loved to make her wait even longer, feeling no guilt at all, but she'd been waiting much longer than he'd been playing and she was at the end of her rope.

She was filling the pot with water when he quietly stepped up behind her. His left hand reached out, covering hers and guiding the pot down to rest in the sink. With his right, he shut off the water, trapping her body flush against his.

He leaned down so that his husky whisper fell right against her ear. "I don't really want any coffee."

She didn't answer, but he felt the tremor that ran through her from head to toe.

Her entire body was shaking when he pressed closer, pushing himself fully against her. There was nothing else to say because his actions were saying enough. His hands moved slowly, starting on hers and only barely making contact with her skin as they skimmed up her arms. Elliot forced his eager hands to take their time, expecting that she would issue a protest. As far as he'd ever been able to tell, their relationship had been ruled by inertia – it just kept going along at its own rate unchanged by pretty much anything that had happened over the years. But there was something in that steady pace, something so strong and reliable, that both were loathe to change. Whether good or bad at any given time, their partnership was unchanging; a static, unwavering, absolute standard.

Which made it a little frightening for him to be in the driver's seat to make such a change.

He knew he could walk away. He could leave things the way they were and apologize for touching her. It hadn't gotten so far that they couldn't forget about it. Things could immediately return to the familiar level of comfort they'd known for years and that sounded rather inviting. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't, wouldn't, leave her. She was perfectly able to take care of things herself, he knew that, but she deserved to have someone take care of it for her.

And for some reason that had never before possessed him, Elliot Stabler desperately wanted to be the man that did it.

As soon as his hands reached her elbows, they moved in, abandoning her arms in favor of her waist. They danced along the tie of her robe, partly waiting for her demand that they freeze, partly disbelieving that such a demand had not yet been made. Certainly if she was able to seize his consciousness completely, she was able to hold the attention of a better, unmarried man. Amazed that he was being permitted to touch her, even if she was as desperate as anyone ever had been, he savored every minute of being close to her. He tried to memorize the feeling of her body, the way it molded to his, the heavier scent of her perfume when his face pressed so close to hers. Her hair was soft against his ear, her skin even more so.

He stopped when he found the knot. If she was going to protest, he figured it would most likely be then. Untying her robe was the first step beyond forget it and walk away territory. He could still walk away, she could still say to stop, but it would have changed. The action would stand as rejected, not erased. She said nothing, made no attempt to pull away.

What she did, in fact, was practically the opposite. Her head dropped back as her face shifted to the right, letting her forehead settle against his neck. She sighed silently, only the rush of her hot breath on his throat clued him in to her acceptance, her acknowledgement, her permission.

Sensing that was pretty much all the answer he was going to get, he went back to work loosening the knot. He barely felt the light fabric as it slipped through his hands. The robe fell open, giving him freedom to touch her anywhere. He paused again, slightly overwhelmed by it all. He'd been the one to start it, he'd been the one to reach for her, he'd been the one to decide it was going to happen, but it was still too much, too fast. Somewhere deep down, he truly had expected to be rebuffed. He had reached for her, knowing there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that she would turn him away. And the way he'd gone about it even, baring her body, touching her from behind, while he remained fully clothed and out of her reach, had increased the odds that she would refuse him. He would have expected her to want to be in control, to be on top.

He smiled as he turned his mouth toward her, skimming his lips lightly over her temple. She was letting him have the upper hand, something he intuitively knew she rarely, if ever, did in any situation, let alone an intimate one that left her vulnerable. He was going to pay her back for that trust.

And he would pay her well.

He moved slowly, carefully, respectfully as his fingertips just barely skimmed along the taut skin of her stomach. He didn't know what to say. There were no words to describe how he felt. Nothing would convey exactly what he wanted her to know. He wasn't even sure he knew what he wanted to tell her. His hands seemed to know a language all their own, one he was confident would translate to her understanding. His fingers could communicate with her better than his voice could.

They moved reverently across her body, learning the texture of her skin, exploring the newly discovered territory that had always remained hidden, forbidden. The situation was so new, so unexpected. There was nothing for him to rely on, nothing remotely familiar, nothing even in the same realm for him to compare. It wasn't as though there had been a series of dates, each one growing in both confidence and closeness, until they'd reached a point where such complete openness was merely a small turn on the dial. There hadn't even been a flirtatious period, where he could at least acclimate to the possibility of an impending change.

He could only use his instincts to decide how to touch her, where to move next. And he could only determine that his instincts were right by gauging her reaction. He questioned the measurement when he realized that he hadn't interpreted any touch as being less pleasurable than the one before it, until he recalled how she'd been acting all night. In her heated state, he understood that everything felt wonderful. Another man might have used that to his own advantage, let it be an excuse to be less careful than he might normally would have been. Not Elliot. He felt it was a reason to be more cautious, more delicate, more vigilant. Because he didn't ever want her to think back on it and regret her decision to trust him. Left up to him, and it did appear to be, she would only remember feeling worshiped and honored and special and adored. He wanted her to know, in retrospect, that she'd made the right decision to entrust herself, her body, to him.

The first noise came from her, sounding almost stolen from her throat. A moan, soft and pained, filled the heated air between them when he found her breasts. He didn't like it. It wasn't a happy sound. It was nervous, unsure, as though she wasn't quite convinced of her decision yet. Perhaps a fear that his actions were part of deliberate teasing, a continuation of his earlier game. Perhaps an expectation that he would suddenly revert to their normal roles and leave her even more wound up that she had been. He hated that her trust in him faltered, but he understood it. He recognized how exposed, how defenseless, he would feel if their positions were reversed. She wanted, needed, to be reassured.

Once again he turned his face toward her, his lips pressing a bit harder into the delicate skin of her forehead. "Shhh, I've got you."

As if to illustrate his point, he let his fingers run over her nipples, using a bit more pressure than he'd previously dared, allowing her to feel that his intent was not as hesitant as his delicate touch had lead her to believe. His hands lifted her breasts, feeling their weight, rubbing his thumbs over their erect peaks. Her body shifted, twisted against him, as though she was still considering running away from him. Surely she could work out her frustration in a much quicker manner; it was her body and she would know exactly where and how and when to touch it. But the payoff would be so much better if she simply let him, if she could trust him enough to let go.

His stretched his chin over her forehead to rest on her hair, comforting her, shielding her. "Relax, I'll take care of you, Liv."

He felt her make the decision. He felt her body pause, even the trembling that hadn't stopped since he'd first reached for her. And then she relaxed. She gave in and decided to trust him. Her arms lifted from where she'd rested them on the counter, her hands coming to land on his forearms. Not guiding, not pushing. Just resting. Waiting. Trusting.

He smiled at the cabinets in front of him, reveling not only in the contact that he'd never truly imagined his partner would allow him to have, but in the complete trust she'd offered him. His hands continued to fondle her breasts, rubbing and massaging and pinching, ever so lightly. Her body squirmed, wiggling against his, but it was different than it had been. It was impatience, enthusiasm, encouragement. She wanted more. His left hand slowly moved down, tracing over her stomach and hip and down the outside of her thigh. It moved slowly, probably painfully so to her, toward her inner thigh, just barely brushing his fingers against her right thigh before retreating to the outside. He felt her shift again, asking him without a word to stop teasing her.

Rather than moving all the way back up, his left hand stopped at her waist. His arm stretched around her, his left hand settling snugly in the curve of her right hip. He bent his right leg, lifting hers in the process, using the leverage to shift her to the left side. He knew his left arm could easily support her. And he needed his right hand free.

He'd teased her enough accidentally. He'd only added insult to injury with the bullshit about the coffee, short-lived as that had been. It seemed that even caressing her breasts was too much teasing for her liking. He wanted to take his time, exploring her and learning her and possessing her. But she was too keyed up, too uncomfortable to enjoy it and he wasn't about to take any pleasure from touching her body when she wasn't finding pleasure in it as well. His right hand moved purposefully, barely lingering long enough to identify where it was as it moved toward the junctureof her thighs. Her legs parted to allow him entrance as her whimper reached his ears. He wasn't about to make her wait another minute.

At first, only one finger dusted through the dark hair, sliding easily along her body. Had the situation been less intense or maybe simply not their first time, he would have laughed or at least mentioned the moisture he found there. He'd been exactly right about why she'd been so uncomfortable in the car; he would have been miserable himself if he'd had to work feeling like he'd had an accident. He could easily envision the panties she'd stripped from her body, soaked with her fluids. But he said nothing, understanding that she was already too insecure about her physical state, that her trust on this level was simply too new, too fragile to sustain even good natured joking.

And feeling that wetness between her legs, knowing that much had accumulated since he'd knocked on the door, he knew why she'd been hesitant to trust him – because she was beyond desperate, because she needed the release that badly, because she would beg him if he were to stop. He knew she'd die before she'd beg anyone for anything.

But she would beg him.

It was a power that scared him.

But it also encouraged him to make sure he didn't disappoint her. He wished he had the words to explain. She didn't have to beg him; she only needed to let him.

One finger slipped deeper, separating, searching. He hadn't even had time to realize he'd found the swollen bundle of nerves when her body tightened. Her shoulders pressed back against his chest as her pelvis pushed forward against his hand. The move was entirely unconscious, he knew, because it threw her body completely off balance, shifting her center of gravity to somewhere under the middle of her back where she had no means of supporting it. Luckily, he'd been prepared for her to react, and his left arm, which was still tight around her waist, easily absorbed her weight, bracing her lithe body with his chest.

He wanted to take it slow, to prove in a sadistic, chauvinistic way that he could drag out her pleasure for an unbelievable length of time. But he knew that, in her current state, to do so would only be mean, and would likely result in her despising him and never, ever letting him lay his hands on her ever again. It wasn't a trade-off he was willing to make.

Not with the nearly painful need he felt for her. His own body was almost as wound up as hers. He was fighting back the tremors that threatened to run through him at every tiny movement of her body. His erection had reached beyond uncomfortable, straining against his pants. He appeased his own need as best he could by pressing himself against her ass, allowing each of her movements to translate into exquisitely agonized pleasure for him. But that was all the thought he gave to himself; he wasn't there for his own needs. He was there for her.

And he was going to prove that.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Pressing a second finger against her, he began to rub soft circles against her tender flesh. She wiggled impatiently yet again, even pushing her ass back against him in an attempt to drive him beyond his control. She didn't want to wait; her nails digging into his skin told him as much.

His fingers moved deeper, aiming for what she wanted. He knew she was ready and he suspected she might kill him if he were to pose such a silly question. He knew she'd been ready since she ran out of the office earlier in the evening. Still, it was new for them and he didn't know her body, although nothing had felt at all unfamiliar.

First one, then two fingers dipped inside her. Her body had already started to rebel, demanding she take the first opportunity that provided itself.

Her muscles were clamping around his fingers involuntarily. She almost seemed to seize when his thumb found her clit, sliding against her center in time with his two fingers thrusting into her. She started to writhe, twisting and shaking in his arms. She was fighting it, trying to hold out, wanting to wait for him. He found it even more endearing than her trust, than her candidness with her body, than anything that had passed between them in the nine years they'd been together.

He pressed his face against hers, trying to reassure her that she needn't wait for him. "Come for me, baby."

Apparently his voice in her ear was the last straw as her body clenched tightly, violently, every muscle tensing at once. Her head thrust back hard into his shoulder as she cried out, an animalistic shout that sounded as painful as it did pleasurable. His fingers were trapped utterly still by her internal muscles just as his hand was immobilized by her strong thighs.

As soon as the initial wave ended, his hand returned to its rhythm, pumping in and out until the last of the tremors subsided and her body finally rested completely still. He slowly withdrew his hand, moving it up to her waist and distributing her weight more evenly. He held her close as she lay unmoving against him. Her head was still thrown back on his shoulder. He could see her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. Her arms hung limp at her sides. In the stillness he felt his own desire, his own need, more clearly. All his earlier thoughts of racing home and jerking off in the shower came back to him, with a much more desperate note to them. He suspected he was beginning to fully grasp how she'd felt when she'd answered the phone that evening. And like her, he could wait. He would force himself to wait.

Because he wasn't done with her quite yet.

Oh, no, not at all.

Because, although his self image would have been pleased with both how willing Olivia had been and how quickly he'd gotten her off, he couldn't take credit for it. He was well aware that, by the time he'd knocked on her door, her "somebody" from earlier could have gotten much the same result in much the same period of time. Of course, he told himself that some part of her feral reaction was reserved just for him, but he needed to prove it. To both of them.

His left arm tightened around her, resuming its supportive hold on her. His right hand began to move again, gliding softly once again over her skin. When he reached her breasts, he took more time with them. Starting on the outside of her right breast, he gently teased the delicate skin, massaging and kneading until her nipples tightened again. But he didn't touch them. He drew small circles around one breast, then the other, ever smaller patterns that never quite reached where she wanted.

As she realized his intent, she started to move again. Having finally found the release that had been evading her all night, she was more aware, more in control. Her movement against his body wasn't jerky and haphazard. Her ass moved with determination, sliding slowly up and down the length of his arousal. She flexed her muscles, tightening the hollow that cradled him. He bit his lip, forcing his attention back to her chest. He wasn't about to let her distract him.

Her release had been powerful, but he didn't think it was enough. He wanted to build her right back up, knowing she wasn't fully settled, and let her go again. She'd suffered all night; he was going to make sure she was exhausted and completely relaxed before he walked away. If she wasn't able to walk right in the morning, well, that would be the coup de grace. And he'd be the proudest man to ever walk the earth.

But as his hand continued to play with the flesh that had been peeking at him and teasing him mercilessly since they met, Olivia realized that she'd regained conscious control over her hands. They moved back toward his waist, squeezing between their bodies and moving toward the button on his pants. Distracted both with the idea that he was finally fondling Olivia's breasts and that Olivia was finally trying to unbutton his pants, it took him a moment to react. She nearly had the button undone when he caught her hands.

Luckily she was back on her feet and supporting herself. He grabbed each of her hands in his, shaking his head against her. "No." He moved her hands back around her front, placing them on the counter for lack of anywhere better.

Just as his hands were free to resume their previous duties, hers moved back to his waist. He chuckled as he held them still. "You don't follow directions well, do you?" She shook her head and grabbed at his waistband despite his large hands still holding hers. Taking charge, and knowing that he wouldn't stand a chance of winning the battle of wills should she get her hands on him, he took her hands and stuffed them into his front pockets.

Normally, it would have been a dangerous place since she'd have enough give in them to continue thoroughly distracting him, but his erection was straining hard against every free inch of the fabric, turning his pockets into cloth handcuffs. She squirmed, trying to get them free, but his hands encircled her upper arms lightly. "You don't want me to leave, do you?"

She shook her head emphatically and he laughed again. "Then keep still." She wanted to argue, he could tell. He was dealing with Olivia, after all, not the crazed sex goddess that had been in his arms moments earlier. Upon realizing that, he had to prove to her it wasn't some kind of power trip. It was, sort of, but it hadn't started out that way and in the end it really was going to be in her best interests rather than his. "I told you I'd take care of you and I did, didn't I?" He waited for her to nod, her hair tickling his neck as she did so. "So trust me."

The second request was considerably more nerve-wracking than the first. She'd been so desperate, so willing, she never could have turned him away. But the second time, she wasn't out of her mind. She was turned on, as was he, but she wasn't anywhere near where she had been. She was certainly capable of sending him packing for real.

Her hands stilled, her arms relaxed. He'd never admit it to anyone, except possibly Olivia in the future, but feeling her body go slack at that moment was possibly the most wonderful experience he'd ever had in his entire life. He didn't say anything at that point, choosing instead to let his hands speak once again.

He used both hands to caress her breasts, touching, twisting, pulling at the rosy peaks. Her moan wasn't strangled as it had been the first time; that time it was inviting, telling him that she liked it, urging him not to stop. Not that he was going to. Encouraged, he grinned as he kept up his ministrations until he felt her hands clenching in his pockets. It wasn't just her hands; her entire body was tightening, shifting, responding.

He felt like the most powerful man in the world, knowing that his partner, his beautiful, sexy, amazing partner wanted, enjoyed, craved, his touch. His hands made her feel good. And that knowledge made him feel good. And it all conspired to make him want her even more.

She seemed to sense his sudden preoccupation with his own needs and moved her hands. They were still in his pockets, obviously not wanting to run the risk of having him leave as he'd threatened, but they flattened out, caressing what parts of his body she could feel through the fabric.

It took everything he had not to turn her around, not to let her attend to him as he had to her already. But he was on a mission, his pride on the line. Olivia wasn't a prude and he doubted she was particularly tame when it came her to sex life. The topic was taboo between them and he always suspected that worked out for both of them as it would be as mortifying for him to disclose that oral sex was about as 'kinky' as sex in the Stabler bedroom ever got as it would be for her to admit that she'd tried out just about every single one of the more imaginative sex practices they'd run into at work. He had no trouble conjuring up an image of her in a black leather skirt and bra, cracking a whip across her hand and demanding that her lover please her. And he was pretty sure, contrary to his best efforts, she could just as easily envision the red stain on his cheeks he still got when his wife asked him if he wanted her to go down on him.

He decided, in the future, he wouldn't mind learning a few things from Olivia. Not if she was willing to demonstrate.

Unfortunately, it wasn't going to happen just yet. He suspected he needed to prove himself worthy of her attention first.

Growling with frustration at the rules he'd created, he tightened his left arm around her waist, pulling her firmly against him and promising silently that was as much relief as he would allow himself. He wanted to impress her. For some reason, it had become an all-encompassing goal and he wasn't about to be deterred.

With her secured in his left arm, his right hand abandoned her breast. He concentrated on moving slowly, letting his feather-light touch dance down her body. He took considerably more time than he had the first time, making sure he felt every bit of her that was within reach, wishing he was in a physical position to let his lips follow the same path.

She knew what was coming and welcomed it; leaving her hands still per his request and turning her face back into his neck. He'd had to ask for her trust, but she'd given it willingly. Just as his hand approached the apex of her thighs, her hips thrust forward, showing him exactly how eager she was. His fingers laced through the thatch of hair, finding more fluid than he'd ever imagined possible coating her. She had no shame as she squirmed, pushing her pelvis forward, rubbing herself against his fingers. He grinned again, using two fingers to push apart the folds of skin, leaving the other three free to skim across her core. He'd been careful the first time, making sure his touch was gentle enough, but he made sure to soften his touch even more to allow for her heightened sensitivity following her first release**.**

He kept his fingers moving, stimulating her more with every slight motion. From his vantage point, he could see very little, beside the all too invigorating sight of his hand disappearing into her body. And from his perspective over her shoulder, the loose robe hanging from her shoulders only seemed to accentuate the sight of her breasts in the foreground. He knew he would never again look at porn without feeling let down. Nothing could be as enticing as the view he had; nothing could be as spectacular as his partner's body, surrendered to his hands.

His fingers massaged and caressed, allowing her moans and shifts to guide him. Her first climax had been intense. He had no idea how he could top that; if it was even possible. But somehow, he had to find a way. To only coax an average orgasm from her then would be mortifying. Mortifying for him; disappointing for her. He blocked the idea from his mind, instead devoting his complete attention to his senses, to the way she had invaded his senses. He could hear her, feel her, smell her, see her. Something was missing.

Oh, yes, taste.

He twisted his neck, not caring how sore he might be in the morning, searching for her lips. There was no way, he realized, especially not with the way she had her bottom lip clamped tightly in her teeth. He settled for her neck, leaning down and placing open mouthed kisses everywhere on her throat, letting his tongue draw senseless designs on her skin as he learned the taste of her skin.

He fought to keep his hips from thrusting into her, knowing that every bit of contact was just more torture. When she was a tired, relieved, satiated puddle in his arms, then he would consider himself. And not a minute sooner. He knew he had to keep her distracted, to keep her from discovering just how weak his façade of strength was, to keep her from turning the tables on him. There was no point in showing her how great he could make it for her if she wound up taking him on the ride of his life.

His hand travelled further, letting his fingers find her opening once again. Knowing she was no less ready than she had been and having the advantage of experience with her body, he started with two fingers, sliding them into her body. Olivia was beyond hot and bothered the first time his fingers had entered her and he'd told himself her level of arousal had been the real reason for her prompt response to his touch.

But he felt her body respond just as suddenly to his strokes the second time. She was writhing, maneuvering herself against his hand as best she could with her limited range of motion. He tried not to let it go to his head, the idea that it was him, not her desperation, that had set her body on fire. She was shaking again, passing her tremors into him through her hands which were still lodged in his pockets.

He quickened his pace, plunging a third finger into her while his thumb worked her clit. Her moans were like a drug to him and he loved the way she sounded, groaning and whimpering her pleasure only inches from his ear. His hand was working hard, setting a frenetic pace in and out, waiting to feel the tell-tale clench of her muscles beginning their release.

Excited as she was, he was barely able to keep a hold of her. Her body was slick with sweat. He was sweating as well, having been supporting her, fighting off his own needs, and giving his right hand an extensive workout. Still, it wasn't enough; he could tell she wasn't wound up enough to come down.

He bent his head, letting his teeth latch on to the skin on her neck and hearing her gasp as his unexpected display of dominance and ownership and aggression. He'd gotten her attention fully, but he wanted to put her back to where she had been, somewhere around entirely out of her mind with the need for him. He withdrew his hand, feeling her body try to follow him. And then, just as quickly, his thrust his fingers back inside her, adding a fourth to stretch her and fill her as much as he could.

Her muscles clenched so hard that her arms straightened, lifting her high enough that her head was momentarily level with his. He stole a glimpse of her, head thrown back in an uninhibited display of utter bliss, her back arched tight as a bow, and he would have sworn she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever witnessed.

Pulling his hand free, he slowly lowered her feet to the ground and pulled her hands from his pockets. Her head lolled against his shoulder and he held her. The protective, jealous part of him would never forget that image of her, lax and helpless and exposed. In the same instant he knew, without a doubt, he'd kill anyone who ever hurt her. Fuck, he might kill anyone who touched her, who touched what he suddenly considered his.

It only took him a few seconds to realize that, due entirely to his handiwork, it would be hours before enough tension built up in her body to support her. With a smile that he would have loved for her to open her eyes and see, Elliot scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

He honestly never thought that Olivia Benson would be the sort of woman who would stand for being carried, regardless of the practicality of the situation. So it amazed him to see her sleepy eyes open, watching him as he pulled her blanket back before setting her down gently. He sat next to her, holding her carefully as he worked the robe down her shoulders, dropping butterfly kisses along her shoulder. The robe fell forgotten by the side of the bed while he shifted her to lie flat.

Her eyes were fighting to stay open. Her lips curled up at the corners. He desperately wanted to touch her lips, to taste her mouth, to slide his tongue against hers. But he forced himself to resist, telling himself that kissing her like that when she was half asleep would be taking something from her that she wasn't able to consent to. Instead, his lips grazed her temple, her cheek, her chin and he took pride in the contented sound she made that reminded him of a purring kitten.

Quite pleased with both himself and her reaction, he leaned over her and met her half-closed eyes. "Aren't you glad I ruined your date with whatshisname?"

Her lips spread slowly into a grin before a chuckle escaped from her. "You have no idea. Dumbass didn't have a clue where to put his hands."

His first instinct was to tease her, since they were both well aware that Elliot himself had no such shortcomings.

But that instinct was strangled by his second, which was pure, unadulterated disappointment. He thought he'd done a good job. He'd been sure that he'd impressed her to the point where he'd at least make her top five, which with his pitiful experience should have been enough.

Unfortunately, Elliot wasn't a big fan of second place and there was something he just didn't like about how it had turned out – despite his previous work, Olivia was still capable of both a full sentence and coherent thought. He'd fallen short of his goal. And that just wasn't acceptable.

Luckily in her state, she missed the flash of anger and displeasure on his face. He smiled as he nuzzled her neck, mentally writing a new plan. He could do better; he was sure of it. The cramp in his right wrist left out a repeat of his kitchen antics and the dexterity in his left hand was pretty much limited to operating the power windows in the car. And he'd already made the promise, even if only to himself, that the whole interlude was about her, which left out the part of his anatomy which was more than willing to fill in for his tired fingers.

His lips traced over her clavicle, opening to allow his tongue to taste the soft flesh. His hands were down for the count, but his mouth was ready for round three.

Assured that she wasn't as out of it as he'd originally thought, his mouth moved back to hover over hers. Her eyes were closed, enjoying both her release and his continued attention. He grinned.

"Olivia, look at me."

Brown eyes snapped open, instinctively following the command of the person who'd brought about such pleasure. Their eyes locked in a familiar display of solidarity, each one reassuring and seeking reassurance simultaneously.

And then his mouth descended on hers, secure in the knowledge that she was aware of her surroundings and her companion. His mouth wasted no time, falling open against hers the moment their lips met. Forever able to read him, she was ready, her mouth offering no resistance. His tongue jutted forward, delving into her mouth and learning the new taste. Sweet, musky, delicious, just as her skin had been, but more intimate. Her tongue slid against his, touching, feeling, but not commanding. She wasn't overwhelming him; she wasn't trying. She had acquiesced to his control in the kitchen and her trust continued to pour forth.

Some part of his brain wondered if he was really in control; he was only in control since she was letting him be. He seriously doubted it, but he didn't really care. So what if he wasn't in control. For the love of god, his tongue was in Olivia's mouth, his hand had been in her body, and in a few moments, he had every intention of tasting the most private essence of her.

If he had completely lost control of the situation, fuck, he never, ever wanted it back.

He wanted to tell her that he'd gotten over his psychological need to be in control of every situation. And fingering Olivia's body until she exploded around him twice was infinitely preferable to psychotherapy. Of course, he couldn't tell her that while he was sucking on her tongue.

The talking could wait.

Eventually, he retreated, withdrawing his tongue in an invitation for hers to chase it. The control see-sawed back to him, allowing her to taste and discover and enter his body.

And in less than a second, Elliot realized that the entire idea of control was really all an illusion after all. Because she was moaning into his mouth at the taste of him and he was groaning into hers at the sensation and he fully grasped the concept that neither one of them had any sort of control whatsoever.

Oh, no, nature was so pulling a fast one on both of them.

With a growl aimed at instinct, Elliot pulled away. He didn't mind surrendering power to Olivia, but he'd be damned if he was going to give up the notion of rendering her senseless because his DNA told his dick to procreate and Darwin commanded that men whose dicks had ultimate decision making authority survived.

Not that he'd mind procreating one friggin bit with Olivia Benson.

Promising himself there was time for that later, he returned his focus to her. There would be no more kissing, not when kissing aligned their bodies in such a way that, if not for his pants, he would have been inside her without conscious thought. He needed those conscious thoughts if he was going to get Olivia to grant that he, formerly monogamous man of one sexual partner his entire pathetic life, was the best lay she'd ever had. He was determined that he would meet his goal, and he would meet it with his pants on.

Because he was fairly certain that would absolutely guarantee a return invitation.

Not to mention that he knew his partner was every bit as competitive as he was, which meant that, if he did her right, she would undoubtedly feel compelled to try to one up him. Which he would so look forward to.

Apparently undaunted by his mouth's abrupt departure, Olivia switched tactics. Her hands immediately went for his pants, one deftly working the button before he even knew what she was doing, the other, which would be why he hadn't realized what she was doing with the button, grasping his hardness through his pants, squeezing and caressing until he thought he was about to lose it right there.

That was not going to happen. He was not going to explode in his pants while she was fondling him. Not unless her gun was in her nightstand and he could use it to kill himself before she knew what happened.

He grabbed her wrists, forcing them up over her head, holding them together and still in one hand. His eyes met hers, seeing her question, yet trust. He smiled to reassure her. "Not yet." He figured telling her that it wasn't going to happen, that she wasn't going to get the opportunity to see him reveal himself in that way, would only backfire. If she said no, if she stopped the game, if she demanded control, it would ruin everything.

Besides, he was pretty sure that one more time, with the powerful reactions she'd had to his touch already, she'd be finished and he'd have proven his point. Which meant that he might well end the night fucking her until he found the same release he'd given her.

When her arms relaxed, he moved his hands, starting at her face and sliding down her body. He touched her neck, her shoulders, her sides, her waist. His mouth started at her neck, finding a spot at the hollow of her throat that made her whimper. He sucked on it until he was sure there would be a mark on it in the morning. He wanted to be able to look at it, at her, across their desks in the morning, even knowing that he'd probably wind up jerking off in the precinct bathroom more than once over the sight.

His mouth continued to travel, moving with his hands to her breasts. His hand worked her right breast, rubbing and caressing. His mouth found her left. He felt no qualms with taking his time, starting in the center of her chest and slowly trailing a circular path of wet kisses around the perimeter of the tender flesh. His left hand continued moving, cupping her while his thumb plucked at her nipple. His mouth kept kissing, the circles getting smaller and smaller until his lips finally closed around the peak. He sucked on it, seeing her skin tug upward as he pulled her into his mouth, flicking across the hardened bud with his tongue.

He'd never say it, but he hadn't ever honestly been that confident in the bedroom. His goal had started out as a teenager to simply not hurt Kathy when he took what felt good to him. As he grew, he tried harder to lighten his touch, to read her and find things that she liked. But he'd always wondered if all those jokes about women faking it were true. Kathy had rarely refused him when he reached for her, but there had been many, many times over the years when she'd found an intense release much faster than others.

And after seeing Olivia, after touching Olivia, after feeling Olivia, his steely, strong, determined partner, after watching Olivia writhe with abandon in his arms he couldn't swear he'd ever actually seen his wife of well over twenty years climax.

Because she'd certainly never clawed at the skin of his scalp while her legs knotted around his waist and held his face to her breast while she screamed and twisted and arched and shook.

Olivia's death grip on his head, his waist, fell away and he felt her chest heaving under his face and hand. Confused, he looked up to see her eyes closed, her mouth open, her sweat-coated body shivering.

Holy fuck, had she just…

He hadn't even been trying, not for that, not yet. He couldn't help it; he started to chuckle.

He was taking out a full page ad in the Times. It was official.

Elliot Stabler was the best fuck in the world.

So good, in fact, he didn't even have to fuck.

In retrospect, it was actually kind of disappointing.

He propped himself up on his elbows and smiled, watching her come back to herself slowly.

Her eyes opened, seeming almost too heavy for her to move. Her arms and hands lay limp at her sides. Half of her mouth curved in a smile. "Laugh all you want." She paused, fighting for breath. "Just don't," her voice trailed off as her head fell to the side. After a moment, she seemed to remember that she'd been saying something. "Stop. Never." Apparently sentences, words even, were too much for her.

He nodded, his smile changing from amused to proud. He'd never seen his partner so content, so relaxed, so happy. And he'd made it happen. "Wasn't planning to." He leaned down, dropping a kiss on her abdomen. "At least not at the moment."

Initially, his plan had been to devote as much attention to her right breast as he had to her left, but he couldn't. She was tired, exhausted, as he'd wanted her to be. He knew she only had one more orgasm in her, in her slack muscles, in her tired, aching body, and he wanted that to be the best, the most intense.

And he wanted his mouth clamped around her center when it happened. He wanted to taste all the stress flowing out of her. He wanted to look up into her eyes when he pushed her so hard into oblivion that last time that she might be unconscious afterwards.

He watched her eyes slip closed as he pushed himself further down her body. Careful to keep the contact just light enough to let her feel it, his head dropped down as he did so, letting his lips brush her skin. He let his mouth, his tongue, explored her body, her narrow, muscular frame. He could feel random shutters still running through her, remnant shockwaves of pleasure echoing even as his endeavored to build her back up into an almost painfully tense state.

Because the fall, his last shove, wouldn't be nearly as intense as he wanted to make it if he couldn't wind her up further than she'd been all night. Which he knew would be an impressive feat in and of itself.

His kisses rained around her stomach while his fingers glanced across her hips. His erection, which was beyond the point of pain, found some relief in the gentle pressure as his body slid lower on her bed. He let his tongue dart out, pressing into her belly button, watching with glee as her weak body clenched at the contact. Her arms were still limp, but her shoulders had tensed, allowing her body to arch slightly into his mouth.

He'd been right. She was nearly spent, but not entirely so. His hands cradled her hips, helping support her body since she was obviously tired. Her body already shaking from the effort of lifting itself that little bit. He shimmied further, his hands pulling her hips along with him, until his knees slipped over the foot of the bed. He settled himself comfortably, knowing it wouldn't do for a cramp in his back or legs to interrupt him.

He moved his hands down further, teasingly brushing her dark curls as they relocated under her legs. He lifted her legs up, bringing her knees to rest on his shoulders before his hands slid under her ass. He pulled at the globes, fisting his hands as she angled her pelvis toward his face.

"Jesus, El, please."

He was distracted by her words, wondering if perhaps his ministrations to her body had converted her to Catholicism. He'd certainly never heard her call on a deity for help. He grinned upon seeing her hands twisting the sheet mercilessly. Yeah, he was on his way to hell, but seriously, he didn't give a fuck, not as long as they were going there together.

Besides, there was a simple truth he'd learned just a moment earlier.

Olivia Benson's pussy was a religion all its own.

And Elliot was quite happily on his knees before it.

He'd gladly worship until the day he died.

But first, he had to show her that he was worthy.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

He leaned in, letting the heady aroma wash over him. His penis twitched, straining harder, as though it somehow recognized that the scent of her juices were calling to it. He could see the moisture that had collected, coating her, covering her pink skin, glistening. Once again, pride swelled his ego to an unimaginable level. Any trace of her time with her date was gone, discarded with her panties in the laundry. This, this obvious physical sign of her desire for him, was new, fresh.

He wanted to sit there, stare at her, eye level with the most intimate part of his partner. He wanted to enjoy it, to memorize the sight, the smell. He wanted to relish the idea that she'd given herself over to him so completely that she was lying, legs spread, open and vulnerable to his eyes. He just wanted to look at her.

He'd intended to take his time teasing her, but his willpower was meaningless. The fluid was liable to seep into the sheet if he waited and he couldn't have that. She'd made it for him, because of him. He wasn't going to waste a drop; he wanted all of it.

Hell, he wanted to taste every tiny bit of it she ever produced in the future too.

His mouth moved forward, following commands the head that wasn't on his shoulders was issuing. His lips made contact with the wet hair first and his brain involuntarily flashed to images, memories of the times he'd done such a thing for his wife.

He wasn't a prude, not in the least. But he'd never liked it. He did it as an exchange, knowing her mouth on his dick felt incredible, expecting that he should return the favor once in a while. But he'd never enjoyed it. He'd never really wanted to do it.

He'd never imagined the idea of his tongue lapping up the hot, stickiness would turn him on. Fuck, he would have been happy if the whole concept didn't actually make him slightly sick.

But things changed.

And how.

His mouth closed around her lips, his tongue eagerly seeking every bit of her he could find. He moved down, sucking lightly, trying to be organized about it, working from the outside in. He lapped at her, sucked at her, cleaned her with his tongue, all the while listening to her incoherent, breathless encouraging moans. She was keening, for Christ's sake; her voice unrecognizable under the whimpers and sobs of pleasure.

Good god, he hadn't even touched her inside yet.

Judging from her excitement and remembering her unexpected third orgasm, he decided to move things along. The last thing he wanted to do was rip a pathetically weak fourth from her before he'd really worked her. He chided himself for not having thought of it earlier, because as much as he'd enjoyed tasting her nipple, he would have preferred, given a choice, to suck two orgasms out of her with his lips wrapped around her clit.

He grinned against her flesh.

Maybe next time.

His hands withdrew from her backside, trusting his shoulders to support her weight. He kept his touch light, forcing himself to be slow and methodical and gentle even as he began to see himself moving up, thrusting himself into her roughly, riding her hard until she came with him, letting her body suck out all the fluid that had gathered inside him at the sight of her. He knew she'd be able to coax every last drop out of him until his erection moved back into the realm of pleasure and he could physically enjoy filling her.

He knew that his own body was worse than hers had been. He was turned on past the point of pleasure. If he took her, fucked her, then it would be purely animal, purely instinct, resulting only in ceasing the pain of his swollen penis.

It fucking hurt.

And while he could imagine nothing that would remedy the situation better than burying himself so deep within her that they might never get all their pieces back to the right owners, he knew doing so would hurt her. Although hurting her, slamming into her until she was bruised, wasn't something he wanted to do, his body was damn near out of control.

Fuck Darwin.

He was in control. And he was going to take her higher than anyone ever had.

And then he would retreat to her bathroom, since he knew he'd never make it to his own in his condition, and jerk off as many times as it took until he was sure he could stop seeing himself flipping her onto her stomach and pounding into her until she screamed.

Forcing his thoughts of himself back, he reveled in the sight of his hands sliding along her legs. Long, toned, tan, strong legs that had been fantasy-inducing for years.

Ever since the very first time he'd seen her. Because he'd been looking down, reading the case file of what would turn out to be the first one they closed together. He'd barely been listening to Cragen, because at that point in his career he'd still sort of believed in following the rules and hadn't pissed Cragen off so much that he couldn't ignore the older man every now and again. His mind had been on the details of the case, slowly absorbing snippets of the one-sided conversation. Oddly enough, he had heard the door to Cragen's office open and close and the click of heels that Alphonse simply wouldn't have been able to squeeze his chubby feet into. He'd heard something about retirement, Florida, and a new partner. But the words hadn't meant anything.

And then he'd heard quite clearly the name Olivia Benson and his eyes had closed.

For a moment he'd contemplated throwing a tantrum, demanding to know why he deserved to have a woman assigned to him, insisting that Cragen partner him with someone who wasn't going to rip apart at the seams the first time she heard a victim's recount of her attack. He waited for a moment, pretending to still be reading, for a soft, feminine voice to nervously clear her throat, and then, when she didn't merit a reaction from her chauvinistic partner, he expected her to ask Cragen, in a weak, defeated voice, if there was a problem.

But there'd only been silence; the first of many, many battles of will between them. The silence had stretched on so long he folded, closing the case file, letting his eyes slowly wander across the floor between them, until he found her feet. Then his eyes began the first, long, slow trip up her impossibly long legs, eventually finding her torso, noting her arms folded over her chest, showing no hint of interest in shaking his hand, and then her face, her beautiful, exquisite face, with her full lips drawn into a line and her dark eyes burning with anger and disappointment and the inherent need to prove herself better than her conceited ass of a partner.

Any desire of intimidating her evaporated as a part of his anatomy, which had previously laid dormant at the office in light of the subject matter, suddenly announced that it would henceforth be an active participant in his work. Taking in both her beauty and her displeasure with him, Elliot's jaw dropped open. He'd clearly heard Cragen snickering as Olivia nodded toward the door.

"If you're done reading, how about we go find this fucker?"

Like so many times in the future, Elliot had only nodded in agreement, unable to find his voice.

And then she'd brushed past him, paying no mind to personal space as her perfume assailed him for the first time and she glared at him unhappily. "Close your mouth, Stabler." She blew out of the office, grabbing the keys to the sedan off his desk and tapping her foot impatiently.

He'd managed to pull his eyes off his new partner, long enough to stare at Cragen, who was chewing on a Twizzler and chuckling. "Good god. Is she for real?"

Cragen had smiled, his eyes twinkling as though he could see the future. "I'd say it's an early birthday gift, but I think she might break your balls."

Elliot finally managed to smile as he shook his head ruefully at his boss and made his way to the door. "Yeah, but what a way to go." And then he'd followed his partner like a puppy dog, something he'd never really managed to stop in nine years, something he'd long ago given up even wanting to stop.

It was Olivia's voice, strangled in lust, bordering on tears, that brought him back to the present. "Please, El, please."

Her voice was so pained, so defeated and unlike her, that his heart clenched in his chest, miraculously overriding any physical urges. He wanted to gather her up in his arms, hold her close, promise her that he would never deny her. He'd known that she'd be willing to beg him, he'd seen her need for him already. He hadn't wanted to make her beg and he hated that he had, even by accident.

But he couldn't fold his arms around her without denying her what she was begging for. So he used his hands, pressing harder on her thighs, morphing a feathery touch of teasing into a warming, comforting caress. He was surprised to find his own voice choked with tears as he answered her, realizing how closely their feelings mirrored one another, revealing how deeply their partnership, their connection, ran.

"It's ok, baby, it's ok. I won't let you down." As he spoke, his breath fell against her center and he watched at the skin prickled with gooseflesh. "You don't have to beg, honey." He leaned in, nuzzling her with his mouth and nose. "You don't even have to ask."

His fingers danced back up her legs, moving to her center, separating her, spreading her, opening her up completely to his view. He thought she might be quivering, but he couldn't swear it wasn't him as he leaned in. His mouth went for her clit, his lips rubbing and sliding over the slick flesh. It wasn't enough, not nearly so. His tongue darted out, flicking across her, causing her legs to tighten, squeezing him. As his tongue worked, sliding and tasting and teasing, he looked up. The sight of her nearly overwhelmed him – her trim body, her glowing skin, her perfect breasts, her bottom lip drawn up between her teeth, her eyes closed tightly. And all of it, all of her, beginning to writhe for him again. Her moans were softer, more pleasant. It encouraged him, knowing that she was enjoying his touches again rather than being tortured by the teasing.

His lips worked over her, nipping and sucking and pulling on her swollen body while his tongue soothed her. Moving his face lower, his tongue found her opening and wormed its way into her. Her muscles clenched around him, trying to draw him in deeper, and he complied as well as he could. While his tongue was moving, thrusting in, pulling out, circling, and then thrusting in again, his fingers played with her bud, varying the pressure to see how exactly she liked to be touched.

He needed to know because he expected the knowledge would come in handy in the future.

His tongue felt her body tightening first, before his fingers felt her pushing against him, before his eyes opened to see her back tensing enough to lift off the bed. It hadn't seemed nearly long enough. What had always been an unwelcome chore, had become something so enjoyable for him that he was sad to realize it would have to end at all, let alone so soon. He wanted to stay there, touching her, tasting her, pleasing her, forever.

But he imagined she preferred to move things along and focus solely on the pleasing part. And really, the idea of pleasing her made him smile as his tongue grazed her skin. His mouth closed around her center again, sucking harder than he had. He watched proudly as she bucked so hard her head and shoulders left the bed completely for a moment. His tongue massaged around her as his right hand, somewhat rested, returned to service.

He started with two fingers, smearing them with the fluids that seemed to be pouring out of her and then sliding them into her. He moved slowly, knowing his position gave him a much better angle and therefore much deeper access than he'd had before. His mouth continued tasting her as his fingers moved in as deep as they could.

The moan she offered him then was one he knew he'd hear in his dreams, in his fantasies for the rest of his life. He could only imagine what he'd get if he were to penetrate her further with his dick, couldn't help but know she'd fit around him perfectly.

Another finger joined the first two and he pulled back to watch for a moment, needing to see the way her body tensed and then stretched around him. And then his mouth clamped back onto her clit, sucking and tonguing her in time with his fingers thrusting into her. Her whole body started to shake, her head thrashing back and forth on the pillow, her hands twisting in the sheet.

"Oh, god." Her voice, her whimpering, quivering, breathless voice sounded nothing like her. "Oh, fuck." She almost sounded on the edge of sobbing.

He didn't want her to beg again, so he redoubled his efforts, trying to render her beyond speech. The only thing he wanted her to be able to say was his name, and that was even negotiable. His fingers kept up a fast rhythm, demanding that her body allow them to move in and out according to their own beat, rather than the tired, random thrusts of her hips. He pushed into her hard, fast, knowing the intimate punishment was more than soothed by the gentle attentions of his tongue and lips.

Her legs tightened again, her ankles locking around his back, her thighs trapping his face against her. He breathed deeply, swearing that he would never forget the scent of her. He'd never forget the sight either, even though his eyes kept closing from his own enjoyment. Her moans shifted deeper, turning into a low growl, as her body continued to tighten.

He kept pushing and pulling, licking and sucking. His teeth closed around her clit gently, hearing her growl stop long enough to yelp, but it wasn't an unhappy yelp – she was just surprised. He kissed her, holding his mouth open as wide as he could while his tongue spread her fluid all over her and then slowly consumed it. She was writhing continually, beads of sweat breaking out all over her.

He dared to stretch her again with a fourth finger, feeling her skin pull under his mouth as he forced her body to accept him. Three, four, five sharp, hard thrusts, and she was screaming, his name ripping from her throat so loudly he wouldn't be at all surprised if someone called the police. Her body convulsed around him, her legs shaking and tensing, her center gripping and pulling on his fingers as waves of pleasure poured through her. He kept his fingers moving, his movements softer, but still strong. His tongue continued lapping at her, rubbing in circles over her clit, watching as her body would tighten and then relax as the waves gave her peak after peak while they rolled out.

And then she was still, except for the occasional shiver across her goosebumped skin.

Smiling happily, he stood up. He returned to the side of the bed to lift her up, to make sure her legs and feet rested on the mattress instead of dangling over the end. He leaned down, reaching across her to pull the blankets over her spent body.

Her eyes opened, blinking sleepily at him.

He smiled, dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Shhh, go back to sleep."

He watched her mouth and jaw work to form words, sounds, and he took great pride in the idea that he'd achieved his goal. His partner was one happy, content, satiated, mute little camper.

He kissed her gently on the mouth. "Whatever it is, tell me tomorrow."

He knew he had to get out of there, get away from her before his body took over.

As he positioned her hand on top of the blanket, she weakly gripped his. "You?" Although she'd managed a word, the sentence was clearly out of her reach.

He grinned as he shook his head. "I'll take a raincheck, baby."

She was far too exhausted for a fifth orgasm, but he knew her body was ready and wet and her mind was willing – he could fuck her hard and fast and be on his way home in less than ten minutes. She wouldn't be upset with him, hell, she wouldn't blame him at all, but it would undo what he'd done. If he was ever going to fuck her, he decided, he wanted her conscious enough to participate.

Besides, by that point, one brush of her petal soft skin anywhere in the vicinity of his erection was liable to make him burst like some pre-pubescent boy who'd found his dad's Playboy. He wasn't about to let that happen, not when he'd spent so much time and effort to leave Liv with a positive impression regarding his sexual prowess.

She accepted his answer, either that or she was so tired that she fell asleep, because her eyes closed and her head fell to the side. He kissed her on the cheek and then headed to the bathroom to take care of his own problem.

The only concern he had about the night, one that would plague him, was that she might not remember their agreement for him to wait. He'd fear it forever, that he'd never get to feel her touch, that he'd never actually know what it was like to be inside her. Until she set his mind to rest.

And he really couldn't wait for that.

The End... for now.


End file.
